Box Kicker
by beast916
Summary: After iOMG, we can guess what has been going through Sam's mind.  But what has Freddie been thinking up to the point he stepped out to talk to her?
1. Chapter 1: Building Boxes

Summary: After iOMG, we can guess what has been going through Sam's mind. But what has been occupying Freddie's thoughts up to the moment he stepped out to talk to her?

Disclaimer: There's no ring on my finger, so _iCarly_ doesn't own me, and I don't own it.

Freddie Benson believed in boxes.

He did not necessarily like them, but he accepted them. He relied on them. He thought they were a way to keep himself sane. He looked at his mother and knew she was a little bit crazy (but not a lot, he told himself, and he still loved her-he always thought this quickly, as if his mother could hear the slight in his head). So he kept boxes. Once they had just been literal-containers in his room so he knew where this or that was. He got antsy if something was out of place. He didn't like people borrow anything, not because of any selfish or miserly reason, but because he would rest on his bed, his hands folded behind his head, and obsess about the space where the missing item should be.

He knew that was a problem. He knew that was something his mother would do. He loved his mother, and he knew all the things she did were for his own protection, however misguided they might be. But he didn't want to be like his mother. So he sabotaged himself. Every once in a while he would hear words coming out of his mouth, telling Sam she should listen to this CD or watch that DVD or, yeah, she could borrow a pair of socks since she insisted on jumping in a rain puddle before she came into the building. He never thought to ask why she didn't just borrow a pair from Carly. Instead he just handed them over, no expression on his face, while his brain screamed at him, _what are you doing, Benson?_ She never gave anything back. He knew there was no malice in that; it was just something she didn't think to do.

He told himself he only did this with Sam, because he knew she would be the one who wouldn't return anything. Carly would. Even Spencer would, unless the item ended up being part of a sculpture.

That's what he told himself. But he knew he lied.

He knew his feelings about Sam had been changing. He had once seen her as an enemy, a blockade, a nightmare. Things had evolved, and he began to think of her as a friend, even (along with Carly) a best friend. But then he started to wonder what it would feel like if he ran his fingers through her hair. He found himself staring just a little too long when she stretched out on the couch wearing one of her flannel shirts and a tiny sliver of pale skin was revealed. Before he could stop it, his mind wondered if Carly could just go away for a little, so he could talk to Sam alone, just the two of them. He wanted to spend time alone with Sam! He could hear his thirteen-year-old self scream, _what is the matter with YOU?_

Sam was a problem. Not only did she disrupt his boxing system in his room (or he made himself let her disrupt it), but she was also causing havoc with his other box system. Some people knew about the boxes in his room. Carly, Sam, Spencer, his mom. Maybe Gibby. Nobody knew about the other boxes.

Freddie loved his mother, but there were many things about her he disliked (top of the charts were the tick baths, which he had fortunately halted almost entirely-almost, since it seemed Marissa Benson's preferred method of punishment was not grounding or taking away computer privileges, but instead an intense interest in Freddie's personal health and grooming that made him feel somewhat violated). One thing he didn't have an issue with was his mother's belief in order. It was something Freddie believed in himself, although he often found himself reviewing his actions and thoughts to ensure he hadn't crossed some imaginary line on the way to becoming like his mother. He wasn't even sure his mother had boxes the way he had boxes. He was afraid to ask.

It didn't start until he was getting the cast off his leg. He had pushed Carly out of the way of a taco truck, and it had hit him instead. Carly, the girl he had been crushing on for years, had developed a bit of hero worship for him and had kissed him. And they were boyfriend and girlfriend (maybe...he still isn't clear on that). Of course, it had taken Sam (it was always Sam, stabbing him with truth) to point out Carly was in love with what Freddie had done, not with Freddie himself. And Freddie, trapped under years of his mother's training ("it's always right to be polite"-funny how his mother, who detested Carly after the accident, didn't follow her own couplets), had broken up with Carly, saying that once the hero worship was over and the cast was off, maybe they could re-explore the idea of them as a couple. Freddie had known getting on the elevator after he told her this that Carly had already realized he was right about what she was feeling and was already looking at him as good ole Freddie again.

But he marked on the calendar the day he was supposed to get his cast taken off, and he planned on asking her out again. Then a day before the cast was coming off he had looked at the calendar and saw he had not been marking the days off. He _always_ marked days off. His mom even had a rhyme about that, but he couldn't remember it, as it didn't rhyme well and was not often used.

And there it was. Tomorrow, the cast would be coming off. And he would go over to Carly's and...what? Profess his love? Wrap his arms around her legs to prevent her from leaving him? Those were the actions of a younger Freddie, and the Freddie who looked at the calendar found himself thinking about that boy with a little disgust and loathing. No wonder Sam always picked on him. He was like a crippled ewe in a lion's den.

He couldn't do it.

But if he loved Carly, shouldn't he try something? And he realized. He didn't love Carly. Well, he did, but not the way he thought he did. The thought of being Carly's boyfriend didn't make his heart feel like it was being attacked by drumsticks. He didn't want to be her boyfriend. He had perhaps been for a few days, and that was good, because he couldn't imagine what he would be like if he had never had the opportunity to see what his dream would be like. Would he be a fifty-year-old man still wondering about what could have been, watching old videos of _iCarly_ and lusting after a girl stuck in time 35 years younger than him? But now he knew. God bless the taco truck, breaker of limbs!

He loved Carly, but he couldn't _love_ her. He knew that. It took the taco truck to help him get over his own tiny brand of hero worship. He had once thought Carly was perfect, but their time together had ripped that veil away. And it wasn't even that she wasn't perfect, because he knew perfection was unattainable and the best he could do was hope to find somebody who fit him well, flaws and all. Carly wasn't that person. For one thing, Carly was just too girly for him. That was fine when he was dealing with a best friend...but not with a girlfriend. He supposed that was something for which he could thank Sam. He found himself more attracted to strong, assertive girls. When Shelby Marx had been around, he had made a fool of himself, much as he usually did with Carly. And Carly just wasn't that strong or assertive-except when she felt she had to do something like "fix" somebody's love life, and look out if you got in her way then. That...well, the way Carly acted then reminded Freddie too much of his mother. He shivered. And then he ripped the calendar page out, even there was still more than a week left in the month.

He never brought up dating to Carly. And she never mentioned it to him, either. Surprisingly, Sam also never said anything about it. Freddie was sure that she would be the first person to do so, even if it was only to point out mockingly that she was right about the whole hero worship thing. Sam, who seemed to delight in telling Freddie that "Carly will never love you" anytime she could, never mentioned it again.

He knew he couldn't date Carly, but he still found his mind in a jumble. And he sat in his room, looking at containers with labels and books, CDs, and DVDs on bookshelves categorized alphabetically and by type, and he realized he needed that with his own head. That's when he thought of the box system. He just needed everything organized. He needed to get right in his mind where people fit in his life, to make dealing easier. And he had to start with Carly.

Even six months before, her box would have read "Love Interest" or "Girlfriend" or "Future Wife". Now he created a box inside his head, in a well-lit but dusty attic, a comfy place that reminded him of old but beloved books. And he put all his thoughts of Carly in that box and labeled it "Best Friend", sublabeled it "No Romantic Interest". And he felt an ease inside him he hadn't felt in years. Once he did that he found himself able to deal with Carly's bouts of girlyness or her sad attempts of flirting with boys (Freddie wondered how a popular, beautiful girl could be so bad at that; he thought it was something girls just had installed in their DNA). Of course, he knew it was largely a symbolic thought-action, but it worked for him. So he pushed her back under an eave in his mind and made boxes for other people in his life-family, teachers, friends.

Boxes for his mother and boxes for Spencer, the closest thing he had to a male role model. Now that Freddie no longer had romantic interest in Carly, he had no issue in thinking of Spencer as a big brother. Again, he was able to feel comfortable that he was able to do this.

Freddie believed in adaptability. Actually, that was something he probably picked up through having to deal with Sam. So even though he believed in his box system, he knew he would occasionally have to rethink how people were organized. Gibby was a prime example. He had gone from some what of a buffoon to a good friend to, for a short period, a dangerous enemy (when Gibby had thought Freddie tried to kiss Gibby's girlfriend) and then back to a friend. Freddie and Gibby hung together once in a while, but Freddie thought Gibby might have been surprised how important he was to Freddie. Because Freddie didn't really have many male friends, so the ones he did really mattered to him. A lot of male acquaintances and one male friend, Gibby. Two, if you counted Brad. But now Freddie was rethinking Brad's box, knowing if he continued with his plan (well, mostly Carly's plan), he would have to readjust his point-of-view. If Carly's plan worked, then Freddie knew he wouldn't be able to deal with the group dynamic...at least not until he properly rearranged the boxes. And made another one to hide his feelings in.

All because of the one girl that defied boxes. Lord knows he had tried. He wished he had purchased stock in 3M for all the different labels he had tried to apply to Sam. Nothing stuck. Years ago it would have been easy. Before _iCarly _it had been hate on both sides. And that was fine. But then they started spending so much time together, and then it was, what, frenemies? Maybe. Sam seemed to delight in torturing in him, and some of the things she did were cruel, none maybe more so than when she said live on the web show that he had never kissed a girl. But then she apologized for it to the web show's audience and admitted she had never kissed anybody either. And they were each other's first kiss.

So they were friends, maybe. But Carly was Sam's best friend, and Sam was almost always kind to Carly. And nearly as often to Spencer. Not so with Freddie. Of course, he was also not treated as harshly as other people who encountered Sam on a daily basis. Thankfully for everyone, as Sam got older her need to cause physical pain diminished, although it was always available for use, as a football player or two had found out recently.

Sometimes he felt Sam and he were closer than Sam and Carly were. Sam sometimes talked to him about things he knew she would never share with Carly. But then if somebody came and changed their two to three or more, then Sam became a ninja comic, cutting him with a word or phrase before he even realized the blade had touched. Sometimes he felt his old hate rising when she did this-not at the words; his ego had thickened from her verbal assaults and "nub"s and "nerd"s had no effect on him, and he actually found her extensive lexicon of ways to pronounce his name ("Fredderly", "Fredalupe", "Freddork") somewhat endearing-but the way she seemed to be repulsed at the thought of others thinking they were actually close friends-that hurt him.

So boxes were assembled and disassembled in Freddie's own little Sam section of his mind. It had been hard enough with the whole friend/enemy debate, but it had gotten more difficult recently. He supposed it had started with their kiss. He didn't fall in love with her then, although he didn't lie to himself and say he hadn't thought of her in that way. Even when she was abusive, she was beautiful. Years had made her more beautiful and kinder (in her own way). And maybe somewhere along the way, after he had finally put away his Carly boxes, he discovered he had a crush on Sam. A crush he could deal with...he had crushes on other girls before, even when he thought he loved Carly. But then there had been the night of the concert. The night he watched, with his sore lips, as she stood with her arms held wide open and water running down her neck. And he saw the "Crush" box tumble apart, a faded brown ghost. A new box assembled. He loved her, and that was no good, no good at all.

But, despite his own feelings toward her, he was her friend. And that is why he would follow Carly's plan, even if Carly's plans seldom worked the way she intended. Because Freddie wanted Sam to be happy, even if it wasn't with him. The application he and Brad worked on at the school lock-in indicated fairly accurately what a person's mood was. Freddie was not one to normally pat himself on the back, especially in this case when his good work slapped him in the face, but he knew the app was a good one. And it told them Sam was in love.

He looked up at her from his computer when he saw this. And then he looked at Brad. It had to be Brad, right? Because Brad was something new. And Sam had been acting strangely ever since Brad was around, with the helpfulness and compliments. And Brad made fudge. How could Sam not love somebody who made her food? Hadn't she said during their intern interviews that she loved that guy, referring to Brad, as she bit down on another piece of fudge. Sure, Brad had been pretty much forgotten after the disaster that was Cort came in for his interview, but once Brad began working for them, maybe Sam had discovered her fudge-induced fascination had blossomed to something else.

Actually, Freddie found it frustrating. Carly, the popular "perfect" girl, seemed to be attracted almost solely to bad boys, or at least as bad as boys can get at Ridgeway, and Sam, who seemed more likely to feel comfortable trading headbutts on a football field, always seemed attracted to guys with similar interests to Freddie. Jonah and Shane had been friends with Freddie, at least they had been before they encountered Sam. Even Pete, who had been on the baseball team, wasn't a particularly tough guy. And now Brad, who was basically Freddie, except he was taller, slimmer, weaker...and he made fudge.

_It's so unfair_, Freddie thought.

He had laughed at first about Sam being in love. It was hard to think of her in love with anybody. But then Carly had stuck her nose in and started saying how wonderful Brad was. And Freddie, who really liked Brad, rolled his eyes and found himself thinking what a jerk Brad was. And Carly had said those words-the ones that always worked, except unlike the "for me" that used to work, it was "for Sam."

Yeah, he would do this for Sam, even though his heart cried against it.

**A/N: This should be a five-chapter story. Please review.**


	2. Chapter 2: That Guy on the Side

Disclaimer: I own the largest Piglet collection (which, unlike Pee Wee Babies, are cool...shut up) in Arkansas, but I don't own _iCarly._

Freddie walked down the hall and looked in rooms as he passed them. He talked to Carly five minutes before, and, as he thought, her plan did not go as she thought it would. She never should have had him come up with a way to get everybody out of the room. He wasn't that great thinking on his feet like that, at least not when it came to verbalization. A two-headed frog! If he had time to sit down and write it out, he would have come up with something great, but he just had a mental block talking off the cuff like that. Which was why, as Sam pointed out several times, he was behind the camera.

He knew he shouldn't had been part of this. He didn't understand why Carly didn't realize her approach would never work with Sam. How could she be Sam's best friend and not know that? Freddie knew it, and he wasn't as close to Sam. Or maybe he was, he thought, as he recalled that over the last year or so he and Sam usually spent more time alone than Sam and Carly or Carly and him. Maybe Carly and Sam talked more (or maybe Carly talked more, and Sam grunted and ate something), but Freddie knew when he and Sam talked, just the two of them, it was important. And sometimes they didn't even have to talk, like the time that led up to the concert. Nobody communicated more in silence than Sam and Freddie.

Freddie wished he had told Carly this had been a bad idea. Of course, that wouldn't have mattered. Carly would have found another way to do it. And Freddie knew what his role was. He used to rebel against it, to proclaim to himself that it wasn't true. Nobody called him it, although Sam came the closest when she referred to him as a "camera monkey" or something like that. However, even Sam had recently complimented him here or there on something. He was really the only one who vocalized (although only to himself) what he was.

He was a sidekick. And he was generally okay with that. He had read somewhere that nobody was a supporting character in his or her own life. Freddie knew that was true, but it wasn't just his life. It was _iCarly_. It was Sam, Carly and Freddie. And he knew where he stood.

It no longer bothered him. Okay, it did...every once in a while. Like tonight. If he hadn't been a sidekick, he wouldn't be looking for Sam and trying to push her into the arms of another boy. He would go up to her and tell her, "I'm everything you're looking for, and I've been here the entire time. I'll always be here. I love you, Sam." And then he would kiss her. And fireworks would go off overhead. And they would look up to see a crowd of their classmates cheering them. And credits would roll.

But Freddie was thinking another movie might play, in which the girl pushes the boy away and says, "I can't believe you would think I would ever think I would like you. I...I don't even think I can be your friend anymore." And she would run away from him. And he would slowly walk through the schoolyard, as others laughed at him and he stepped on a rake he knew hadn't been there before and its handle hit him in the head. Then he stepped on another rake. Credits.

He had thought of himself as different movie sidekicks before, but in this case he knew he was Ducky, the guy in _Pretty in Pink _that pushed the girl he liked to a better man, because he knew he wasn't good enough for her. This was the type of thing he thought because somehow it seemed Carly always picked on movie nights.

He remembered the day he had accepted his role in their little trio. It had also been one of the worst fights he had with Sam, at least since before he and Carly had been broken up. Sam still hit him every once in a while, although the violence had already started decreasing by then, but he thought this might be the first time in a long time she would hit him while they were fighting. He couldn't believe she didn't, because he didn't back down.

And the fight had been so stupid.

They had been watching _Ferris Bueller's Day Off_, which had been the first movie in what was supposed to be a John Hughes mini-marathon, although they never got past the first film, or at least Freddie didn't. Carly had picked the films (seriously, he needed to stop letting her pick-at least he could pick _The Bicycle Thief_ or something, so Sam would have a good reason to be mad at him). He didn't remember exactly what Sam had said, but it had been something along the line of how cool Ferris was and not understanding why he was friends with that nub Cameron.

"What are you talking about, Sam? The film's about Cameron!" Freddie said, not thinking of any consequences.

"Then why isn't it called _Cameron's Day Off_, Freddie? It's got Ferris's name in the title."

"Oh, I suppose _Weekend at Bernie's_ was all about the dead guy then. It might have Ferris's name in the title, but the film is about Cameron."

"Stop calling it a film, nerd. It's a mooooovie. And it's about Ferris!"

"Fine, Puckett. In this 'movie' just what is so important about Ferris that we need to know about?"

"Are you stupid? It's about him not letting people control him, about doing what he wants-"

"So," Freddie said, smirking, "it's about him doing the same thing this day that he does every day? Unlike Cameron, who actually, you know, goes through some growth and change and understanding."

"He's nothing but a nub! The movie wouldn't be worse without him. In fact, it would be better." By this point, they were both ignoring the movie. Carly had tried to melt into the couch. She needn't have tried, since they were ignoring her, also. They had both stood up by now and, though they were mere inches from each other, they were yelling at each other.

"Well, I wouldn't expect any better from you, Sam. You're too stupid to understand a FILM unless it has a pratfall or a meat buffet."

Sam's eyes flashed at this, and she might actually have hit him if he hadn't pushed by her and left, slamming the door behind him. In the hallway he screamed, "I don't need this!"

He sat in his bedroom and wondered just what had happened. He didn't know why he yelled at Sam. He didn't know why he would yell at Sam like that even if he knew he had a reason to yell at her. He forced himself to breathe regularly and calm down. And he thought. Unlike Sam, who he felt would best function in a hurricane, and Carly, whose thoughts flew along like a hummingbird, Freddie thought best in absolute stillness. In his mind he set up a projector screen among his boxes and watched what happened.

And there it was. He identified with Cameron in the film. Cameron was the sidekick, even if during the film he was the character who did have the most change and growth. People watched because of Bueller's antics, but would the "movie" have been as popular if it weren't for Cameron's story? Freddie didn't think so. Without Cameron, Ferris Bueller is just a guy who always gets his way and lies to and tricks other people. Without showing Ferris having a friend like Cameron, a friend who he eventually is willing to take the fall for, would there have been anything noble about Ferris? No.

Freddie realized. In the _iCarly_ dynamic he was the sidekick. Often he was the glue that held them together, although their audience didn't realize that. Sometimes Carly and Sam didn't. But that was okay. Freddie was okay with that. Until the girl he was pretty sure he was falling in love with pretty much said that Freddie was a useless nub. Sure, she didn't know she was doing that when she was talking about Cameron, but there it was. He was stuck, too. He was still mad at Sam. But he knew he shouldn't have yelled at her. And, even if he felt like apologizing, he didn't know of any way to do so without coming off like a complete nub.

So he avoided her. He had known her long enough and well enough to learn some of her tricks almost by osmosis, so it wasn't that difficult at school, since they didn't share any classes. But eventually he had to go to Carly's for rehearsal. Spencer told him Carly wasn't there yet-something about a boy at the Groovy Smoothie, news that would have previously torn him asunder and which he now barely acknowledged. He went to the studio and prepared for rehearsal. He heard Sam come in. He knew it was her, because her step was heavier than Carly's, plus Carly would have said something. Sam didn't say anything. She just went to her bean bag and sat down. He felt her eyes on him, but whenever he looked up, her face was turned away. There was no way he continue a battle of wills with her; he would never win.

"I would have preferred to have watched _Breakfast Club_ myself," he finally said faintly. It wasn't an apology. He couldn't quite give her an apology and truly mean it. If he had tried, she would have reacted worse than with no apology at all.

"That's probably just cause you're in love with Molly Ringwald," she said. She still didn't look at him, but he could tell by her voice they might get through this, unless he screwed up majorly.

"Actually, I liked the Ally Sheedy character more," he said, and came over to sit down next to her.

"She doesn't seem like your type," she said, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. "I actually the Anthony Michael Hall character...I mean, especially now when I think about how he grew up all buff and all."

"You just like him because he brought a flare gun to school," Freddie said, and they both laughed. And they were friends again. That would have never have happened so easily a few years before. Carly came in on the tail-end of their laughter and shook her head at them. Freddie knew she didn't understand the two of them at all, and he was glad. She had made them promise not to keep secrets, but Freddie decided this meant big things like kisses and such, and not secret communications she couldn't understand or the fact he was falling in love with her best friend.

He and Sam were okay, and Freddie was happy. He accepted his role as the sidekick. Looking through his DVDs, he discovered an affinity for films and TV shows in which he found the sidekick particularly relatable. He had every season of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_, and he kept comparing himself to Xander Harris, with whom at first it seemed he had nothing in common (unlike Freddie, Xander appeared somewhat directionless when it came to school). But then he noticed that Xander was surrounded by extremely powerful women and, by comparison, seemed weak, even though under normal circumstances somebody who had actually killed a vampire would not. Xander was involved with vampire slayers, witches, "good" vampires, werewolves, and more, and he was pretty much the only powerless entity in that group, and yet he fought alongside them. Maybe he didn't seem brave standing by them, but they had their powers to use-he had only his wits and love for his friends. Freddie was simpatico.

Freddie had even suffered through some DVDs of _Dawson's Creek _Carly kept trying to force him to watch, and became interested in the Pacey character, who he thought of as an interesting sort of conglomeration of Sam and Freddie. But eventually he couldn't take any more and left, with a promise to commit homicidal acts if he ever met anybody actually named Dawson Leery.

Freddie almost created an embarrassing situation for himself when he finally forced Carly to let him pick some movies. He went with _The Lord of The Rings_ trilogy. By the time the third film ended both Sam and Carly were fast asleep. Actually Carly had dropped before the hobbits had even left the Shire, and Sam only lasted halfway through the second film, after realizing Freddie wasn't pay much attention to her explanations of the different ways in which he was a nerd. Which was good for Freddie, because he sat there for the last hour with tears sliding slowly down his cheeks. He wanted to shake Sam awake and say, "look, I'm your namesake. I'm Sam Gamgee." She wouldn't understand. She'd probably smack him. He remembered reading about when the books were first published and people would write "Frodo lives" on walls, and he didn't understand that. Frodo would have been nothing without the support of all those around him and especially without Samwise Gamgee. Freddie had a subtle contempt for Frodo. The ring controlled him. Sam Gamgee was brave and strong, not because of any particular skills or destiny, but because his love of his friends strengthened him.

The film ended, and Freddie looked at the two girls asleep on the couch with him.

"I'm not picking any more movies."

He grabbed some blankets and put them over Sam and Carly, turned off the TV and went to his apartment.

At the school he was still looking for Sam. He asked Brad if he had seen her, but Brad told him not since the whole two-headed frog thing. Freddie cursed Brad in his mind, even though he knew it wasn't the other boy's fault Sam liked him. He continued to search.

It was extremely difficult for him to try to push the girl he loved to another boy, but perhaps that was the sidekick in him. Perhaps it was the Ducky in him. He could be selfish and say that since she didn't want to be with him, he could make sure she wouldn't be with somebody else. He knew, if he was able to make the effort, he could make it happen. He knew the buttons to push with Sam. But if he did push buttons, he wouldn't deserve her friendship, much less her love. He wouldn't be Freddie. He wouldn't be Gamgee-ish.

He smiled as he thought about Christmas, three months after the movie fight he had with Sam. He had come to Carly's in the early afternoon. He and his mother had spent a quiet Christmas morning together before she wnet to work that afternoon. He was going to have Christmas dinner with Carly, Spencer, and Sam. Before they ate, the three teenagers exchanged gifts.

Freddie opened his gift from Sam last. It had been wrapped in newspaper, rather quickly it seemed. The date on the paper was December 24. The first thing he saw was a rather cheap picture frame, one of those ones that could be bought for a dollar or two. Then he saw what was in the picture frame. It was a reprint of the painting, "A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte", which had been the painting Cameron had been looking at in _Ferris Bueller's Day Off_. Freddie looked at Sam. He couldn't read her. Perhaps it had been her idea of a joke. He didn't care. Joke or not, she had retained this information over three months and thought enough about it to give it to him. He realized he didn't care if it was a joke at his expense or not; he loved the gift. He leaned over quickly and gave her a light kiss on her cheek.

"Thanks a lot, Sam. I really like it." She blushed and mumbled a welcome. Nobody mentioned that Freddie had not kissed Carly after receiving her gift. Thirty minutes later Sam and Freddie were shooting peas at each other with their spoons, and Sam was hijacking his ham, even though there was a full platter in front of her.

That night Freddie put the framed painting on the table next to his bed.

**A/N: I liked this chapter quite a bit in concept-it was actually many of the thoughts Freddie expresses about sidekicks (and of which I share many) that mainly prompted me to write the story. I wish I had been able to not make everything some internal up to now, but there will be more over the next three chapters.**

**I have tried to adhere to the show as much as possible, so I had some debate with myself whether it was all right to include such recognizable films and TV shows (when, on the show, **_**Star Wars**_** is known as **_**Galaxy Wars**_**), but I figured if Plain White Ts and Johnny Depp can exist in that world, so can what I brought in. **

**I also tried to show that Sam has matured over the course of the show (I have a problem with stories that have her treating Freddie physically at sixteen and seventeen the same as she did two or three years before-I just don't think it's realistic; I point out in the next chapter, I believe, that Freddie remembers the last time he remembered her hitting him was when they were selling Penny Ts). I hope I haven't pushed her too far in the other direction. If you feel I did, please feel free to let me know. Just don't be mean, because I might cry. And my wife already makes enough fun of me for watching **_**iCarly**_**.**


	3. Chapter 3: The Toughest Butterfly

Chapter 3: The Toughest Butterfly

**Disclaimer: we enter life owning nothing and leave the same way. In between, I do not own **_**iCarly**_**.**

Sam and Freddie were different. Maybe Sam didn't know that. Freddie had never asked her. It was one of those things that he felt was like a house of cards-one false move and it all comes down. He knew it, though. She wouldn't share a kiss or a disgusting night of Troma videos with anybody else to whom she had given a wedgie. She also had never put a fish in the locker of any of the boys she had crushed on or dated. Of course, he reasoned, none of those relationships had lasted very long-no longer than any of his relationships. He thought Sam and he would be perfect together. The only problem was Sam was Sam. He laughed to himself. He loved Sam because she was Sam, and he couldn't let her know his feelings because Sam was Sam.

"Yo, Benson, what's so funny?" It was Todd Chambers, one of the football players.

"Nothing, just something Sam said," Freddie lied easily. He remembered a time when a chance encounter with one of the football players might have ended up with a beating or being pushed out of the gym naked (which had happened to Gibby, but that was only a step further than Gibby had gone before, and he didn't seem particularly embarrassed). Freddie had been getting along with most of the football players, and Todd was a pretty good guy. It had been years since he had been bullied by any of the jocks or pretty much anybody else (except some teachers, and he knew he just had to muscle through the rest of high school on that). Todd was the one who told him why. Freddie knew he should have been an easy target for bullying. His best friends were girls, he didn't get into sports, he was in the AV club, and, even though he wasn't weak, he was still somewhat below average height, only standing a little taller than Carly.

But some people thought he was tough. And it was all due to Sam. Freddie thought that was hilarious. Sam had hurt him before. But most of the pain had happened years ago, when they were still in their frenemy stage. The last time he remembered her really hitting him was the time they were selling Penny Ts. She had spanked him, which hadn't felt that good truthfully. She had also slapped him, but it had been a long time since a Sam slap had hurt him. Maybe he was stronger; he remembered when a slap from Sam would send him to the floor. She hadn't done anything since then except push him out of the chair in front of the computer. He was used to that. Even Carly did that every once in a while.

Todd came up to him four months before the lock-in. They had a few classes together (Freddie thought Todd was pretty smart for a jock and then thought himself a jerk for stereotyping someone else), but they had never talked much, with the high school clique system. Still, Todd had never bullied anyone that Freddie saw and they gave each other head nods when they passed in the hall, which in high school was sometimes as good as Hatfields and McCoys laying down arms.

"You've got to be the toughest guy I know," Todd had said.

"What?" Freddie looked around to see if Todd was talking to somebody behind Freddie. "Me?"

"Yeah. Look at that," Todd said, and pointed to another football player, Mike Riley. He had a cast on his left arm, two black eyes, and a long red mark down his cheek.

"What happened to him?" Freddie asked.

"Well, you didn't hear it from me, and you can't let anybody know. Mike wouldn't be happy about it, and everybody knows there are teachers here looking for a reason to get your friend expelled."

Freddie knew. "Sam did that? Why?"

"Mike made the mistake of goosing her."

"Is he insane?" Freddie asked. He was one of Sam's best friend, and he couldn't even think of trying to get away with something like that. He didn't know if he would be brave enough to do something like that even if he was her boyfriend. He shook his head to get that thought out of his head.

"Maybe," Todd said. "He's actually in better shape than Phil Brooks was."

"Wait, didn't he transfer out of here a few months ago?" Freddie asked.

"Yeah, after Sam got ahold of him. Mike looks like he got a boo-boo compared to Phil. Phil made the mistake of cornering your friend Carly in the hall one day and tried to get a little free with his hands-more free than Mike did with Sam."

"What?" Freddie was ticked. It was good Phil was gone, because Freddie would have attacked the guy himself. He wasn't in love with Carly anymore, but she was his best friend and like a sister to him. He looked at Mike and knew the reason he didn't feel the same way about him was because he knew Sam could take care of herself. If he had tried to defend her honor, Sam might have beat him up, in addition to Mike.

"So why are you saying something about me being tough?" he asked.

"Mike's 250 and built like a brick. Trust me, I know. And Phil was a jerk, but he was probably the strongest person I knew...well, until Sam. I've never seen anything like when she attacked him. I don't know how she does it."

Freddie had always thought of Sam as a live wire just waiting for something to connect to, and he understood what Todd was saying.

"Eh, Sam doesn't hit me that much," he said, shrugging.

"Yeah, maybe, or at least not so much anymore, but we've all seen her go after you. Guys used to laugh at you in the gym for being beaten up by a girl." Todd looked as Mike went into a classroom and then peered down the hallway, where Sam was walking toward them. "Trust me, nobody does anymore. I don't know if you can fight, but you sure as hell can take a beating."

Freddie laughed. Todd stuck out his fist, and Freddie bumped it, although he never felt comfortable doing that unless it was with people he was close to. He did find it humorous he now had a reputation for being tough for taking beatings from a girl. And more than two years after the girl had actually caused him any serious pain. Todd walked away.

"What did pigskin want?" Sam asked, gesturing at Todd.

"Nothing. He's not a bad guy, you know. He's in AP classes."

"Whatev," Sam said. They began walking down the hallway together.

"Hey, Sam," Freddie said. She looked at him. He tried to put on his least serious face. "Do you think I'm tough?"

She smirked. "Well, I haven't killed you yet."

Freddie laughed. "Yeah, there's that."

Freddie asked Todd if he had seen Sam, but the last time he had seen her was after she left Carly at the stimulus chamber. Freddie thanked him and moved on.

Freddie thought of the reputation Sam had at school. It was well-earned, but it was only part of the mystery that was Sam. Freddie felt special that there were things he knew about her that even Carly didn't. He had (at least until Brad) never been jealous of any guy Sam had shown interest in, because he knew none of them would last with her, but he did feel jealous of Carly, just because of the time she spent with Sam.

But the tide had turned. None of them had great track records when it came to dating, but Carly, while doing as poorly as Sam and Freddie when it came to longevity, was light years ahead of them when it came to frequency. She had a lot of first dates. Although Sam was getting along better with her mother, she still spent much of her time at Carly's apartment, even when Carly or Spencer wasn't there. Though she complained about seeing Freddie so much, she never pushed him to leave when he came to the apartment. If Spencer wasn't there, they would end up on the couch, watching TV and talking, with Freddie complaining about having to be her food-fetcher, even though he didn't really mind. If Spencer was there, they would end up in the studio. That's where their more intense conversations happened.

Freddie was surprised when Sam had admitted to him once that she was sometimes jealous of how much attention his mother paid him. Freddie countered that he wished his mother was occasionally as carefree as her mother. They agreed that their mothers could probably use a little dose of the other. They talked about their fathers, which was one of the first times he had seen Sam cry since the window washer's scaffold.

"Benson, if you tell anybody I cried...", she said.

"Sam, you know I wouldn't," he said, offended. She looked at him and nodded. She had cried two other times over the course of their studio conversations, but she never threatened him again about it. The first time she cried he had hesitantly put a hand on her shoulder. She tensed and then relaxed and put her small hand on top of his hand. The next time he held her in his arms. Neither of them said anything about it once they left the studio.

One time, as the three of them watched a movie, Carly had mentioned something about a cousin of Sam's who had died of cancer. Of course, she only mentioned the cousin and not the cancer. She realized she had mentioned something she thought Freddie didn't know and stopped abruptly, panic in her eyes. It was brief, but Freddie saw Sam, who appeared to stare at the TV, flick her eyes at him quickly. Freddie pointed at the screen quickly and made a wise crack about Hugh Grant. He sensed Carly doing a small "close one" swipe of her forehead and then felt a small squeeze on his left hand. He looked to Sam, eyes still pointed at the screen, and then flicked his eyes down at their connecting hands. She gave one more delicate squeeze and then moved her hand away.

They had tried conversations on the fire escape, but Freddie always felt antsy there, since all he could think about was the first time they were there together and their first kiss. He would find himself staring at her lips more than usual and feel words slip away from him. He stopped suggesting they go there, and Sam never mentioned it.

Sam also finally admitted to him that Melanie was in fact real, although she didn't have a good explanation why she let him think he had won (not winning was a Puckett no-no; letting somebody else believe he had won was nearly a blasphemy). She showed him a home video of the sisters. She only teased him moderately after he felt like he had to pull his jaw off the floor. He actually found himself somewhat relieved, though, because knowing Melanie was real explain something to him.

When Melanie had kissed him he was confused, because it just didn't feel the same as when he and Sam shared their first kiss. _Maybe_, he thought_, Sam has had more experience and gotten better at it. Maybe I've gotten better, even though I've had no experience. Maybe I've gotten worse._ The kiss he and Sam had shared was probably not the world's greatest kiss, shared between two people who had never kissed anyone before, but he had felt his heart rate increase and butterflies in his stomach. With Melanie, he had felt surprise...and nothing else. Even with Carly...well, that first kiss had been like a dream. It had felt wonderful. But he didn't feel any butterflies. After he and Carly broke up, and he put his dream girl into her "best friend" box, he thought about the kisses again. He still cherished the first one he and Carly shared, but each subsequent kiss only served to remind him of the wrongness of Carly-and-Freddie. After Sam told him about Melanie, he shuddered at the realization that of the three girls he had kissed, two of them were sisters and one of them might as well as have been. _Okay_, he thought,_ if I can't kiss Sam again, then I am definitely going to make sure the next girl I kiss is somebody that is not related to Sam or Carly. Or who they even know._

One Friday Carly visited her grandfather in Yakima and Spencer went on a date, and Sam picked the lock on the Shays' front door and she and Freddie had sat on the couch and watched movies. Sam eventually fell asleep, with her head thrown back and her lips slightly. Freddie looked at them.

_I wonder if she would give me butterflies still_, he thought. He waved his hand in front of her face. She didn't react. There were no butterflies with Carly or Melanie. Maybe the butterflies were only first-kiss related. He felt he needed to find out. He slowly shifted on the couch, making an attempt to be as still as possible so he didn't wake her. He moved his head closer to hers. He knew if she woke up and saw what he was doing, he would be lucky to only look as bad as the two football players she had beaten. He brought his mouth close to hers, so that perhaps only a sheet of paper could fit between them. He wanted to kiss her, but felt doing so without her consent or knowledge would be a bigger betrayal than telling anybody she cried. He didn't need to, though-he felt the butterflies.

_Maybe that's just the fear_, he thought, as he pulled away from her, checking carefully to ensure she didn't open her eyes. He wondered how he could accurately verify his hypothesis. He looked over at her half-empty bottle of Peppy Cola and picked it up. He brought it over her head and slowly tipped it over. The liquid pushed toward the opening and one drop fell. He shot his other hand out and caught the Cola in his palm, just above her nose. He moved away.

He had felt fear. He had felt his throat close when the drop fell. But no butterflies.

He hadn't loved her when they first kissed. At the time, he thought he was in love with Carly. But Carly had given him no butterflies. And even having his lips that close to Sam's had done so. _Am I in love with her?_

He didn't know. He had accepted the crush. Crush good; love bad. He couldn't love somebody who didn't love him back, especially not Sam. Having that happen with Carly (if it was love) was painful; having it happen with Sam would destroy him.

Freddie looked out into the breezeway and saw Sam sitting against a wall, drinking water. He smiled at the image of him so close to her lips and wondering if he loved her.

He would go out there and try to push her toward the boy she loved, toward Brad. Because he was Freddie, because he was the sidekick, because he had created a new box for her in which he was just her "best friend", and being Sam's best friend was better than not being with Sam at all. And that should have been okay, because he realized that, no, he hadn't been in love with her that night on the couch. He was attracted to her; he had a crush on her; he would gladly be her boyfriend if she was willing; he loved her, but he wasn't _in_ love with her. And that would have been enough for him to feel good about helping his friend, his best friend, find somebody who could make her happy.

Except for the night of the concert, when he discovered that what he felt on the couch that night was nothing. If what he felt for Carly was a creek and what he felt for Sam that night on the couch was a river, then what he felt after the night of the concert was an ocean raging through him. And that was some bad chiz. True, indeed.

**A/N: In the past I would write something and never look at it again before sending it on its way. Writing this has helped me discover some issues-like a major obsession with the word "actually" (I **_**actually**_** had used it three times within two sentences) and a compulsion to use past perfect verb tenses when the past tense suffices. Sorry, grammar nerding.**

**Two more chapters after this. The next chapter includes the dance I've been foreshadowing, and the last chapter is Freddie's point-of-view during the breezeway scene. Thank you for everybody who has reviewed or favorited, even those of you who pointed out how "wordy" I am (grumble...yeah, I know I am; I'm working on it).**


	4. Chapter 4: It Was the Folksinger's Fault

Chapter 4: It Was the Folksinger's Fault

**Disclaimer**_**: **_**We own nothing, only share. Except **_**iCarly**_**, which Dan rules with an iron fist.**

Freddie looked at the girl he loved, the girl he was in love with, the girl he was about to try to talk into dating some loser who was JUST like him, except he made fudge and the two of them had no history together.

Perhaps if the concert hadn't happened, there wouldn't be a problem. _Sure, yeah, if it wasn't for the concert, then nothing else would have come along to make you understand you feel this way, and you would have gotten over your feelings for her. You Nub._

And the concert was his own fault. He was the one who started it, in the studio...well, no, he was in the studio and then she came in, and it rolled downhill from there, but he could have stopped it somehow. He is almost sure he could have stopped it.

Spencer had been with Socko at the junkyard and wasn't expected back until dark. Carly actually had an interview with a local news station for an intern position. Freddie didn't really think being a journalist was what Carly wanted to do, but he was happy she was at least exploring her future.

He locked the door. He chained the door. He was looking forward to a relaxing time spent doing his "nerd" stuff in peace. He had many upgrades to do to the computers and video equipment, in addition to working on moving their message board to a faster server. He had sodas and snacks; his PearPod had his newest obsession on it: Ani DiFranco. He hadn't told the girls about this. It wasn't anywhere near Carly's type of music, and Sam probably would have made fun of him, suggesting maybe he get some surgery so he could go to the next Lilith Fair without having to wear a disguise. The music was loud, as he didn't expect anybody there for another couple of hours. He told Carly he would be there, and that if she got home early, to just send him a text message and he would unchain the door. He waited for upgrade to complete when one of his favorite songs came on, and he sang along:

_Growing up, it was just me and my mom against the world, and all my sympathies were with her when I was a little girl._

As soon as he sang "girl" he turned around to see Sam staring at him. _Great, just as I'm singing the little girl part_, he thought. It couldn't get any worse, he thought, unless "Letter to a John" came up on the shuffle. So he continued to sing, as he turned back to his computer. He made a concentrated effort not to look at her, waiting for her laughter to start. But it never did. Instead, her voice joined his, and he turned to see her on her bean bag, not looking at him, her eyes closed. She knew the words. _There's one thing I didn't know we shared_, he thought.

They did not talk that day. Instead, they sang. "Letter to a John" did come up eventually, but he was no longer embarrassed. She knew all the words. Eventually, Carly texted him, and he showed the phone to Sam and went to let Carly in.

"How'd it go?" he asked, as they reentered the studio. His PearPod had been turned off, and Sam was watching _Girly Cow_ on the TV.

"Pretty good, I think," she said. She shrugged her shoulders. "What have you guys been doing?"

Freddie looked at Sam. If she was going to say something, it would be now. She turned and looked at Carly, not even moving her eyes toward Freddie.

"Nothin' much."

They never talked about it. Just like so many of the things they shared, they communicated only through looks and actions. One day Freddie found a burned CD of a group called Fugazi in his locker. Sam found CDs for Dan Bern and Butch Walker. Sam put a Black Flag CD in his locker, with the phrase "grow a pair" written on it in marker. That was the closest they came to discussing that day in the studio. Freddie was just happy with the way things were going. Sam was actually making an effort to do something nice for him. Sam didn't make concentrated efforts for people, other than Carly. That meant something to him, even if it was only a sign of her acceptance of his friendship.

But then he had to mess it all up with the concert tickets.

He saw that Ani DiFranco was scheduled to play in Seattle and without giving it much thought (or else his mind would have applied the brakes) he bought two tickets. He didn't let Sam know until two weeks before the concert. They were in Carly's bedroom. Freddie was on the bed, and Sam was sitting against the wall. Carly was video chatting with whatever boy was her latest obsession. Freddie pulled the tickets out, gave Sam's foot a gentle nudge with his own, and held the tickets up for her to see.

She looked at them and then at him. She held up two fingers. _Two? _And she bobbed her head toward Carly. Freddie cupped his hands over his ears like headphones and mimed singing a cheesy pop song. Sam smirked and nodded. Definitely not Carly's type of music. Freddie raised his eyebrows at her. _Do you want to go?_ She looked at him, and he saw the question in her eyes, but he chose not to recognize it. _Is this a date?_ He wasn't going to touch that one.

Finally, she nodded.

Neither told Carly about the concert. She had a date that night anyway, so Freddie didn't see a need to lie to her about it, which was good, since he wasn't skilled at lying to his friends. He was good at not telling the truth, but he sucked when he had to directly answer a question. Thankfully, neither of the girls had asked him a question recently that would have put him in a bad position. "Freddie, do you still love Carly?" "Freddie, do you like Sam?" He didn't know what Sam might have told Carly, and he didn't ask. If he had answered Sam that, yes, it was a date, then they would have had to tell her, because of the stupid promise they made. But they were just two friends hanging out. They just happened to be going to a concert rather than the Groovy Smoothie or the studio.

The night of the concert Freddie rang Sam's doorbell. A few moments later she opened the door. She was wearing an orange Ani DiFranco shirt, blue jeans, and her favorite Converses. Her hair was loose and curly, and she wore minimal makeup. Freddie had never said anything about it, but he liked it best when she didn't. Too much makeup just wasn't a Sam thing; he thought she looked beautiful without it.

She looked him up and down. "That's not going to work, Fredward."

"What's wrong?" Freddie asked, looking down at himself. His jeans were nice, shoes were good, one of his better polo shirts...what was the problem?

"You're going to a concert, Benson, not an AV meeting. This isn't going to cut it," she said, pinching the fabric of his shirt. "Don't you have any rock T-shirts."

"Sam, have you met my mother?"

"Good point. Come in."

She ran to her room quickly and came out with a shirt that was too large for her. She held it out and displayed it to him. It was a Pearl Jam T-shirt, and by its fading, it was a pretty old one. "Put this on."

She threw it to him, and he hesitated. "Sam, this shirt smells like you. I can't wear it."

She cocked an eye at him. "You been sniffing me, you perv?"

"No, I've known you for a while, Puckett. You're not exactly indiscriminate in using me as a pillow. I know what you smell like. I can't go to a concert smelling like a girl." Actually, the thought of Sam's scent being that close to him was worrisome to him for other reasons.

"Fredwart, I don't know if you noticed, but chances are three out of four people there are going to be girls. I think you'll survive. Just wear it, okay? I only wear it as sleepwear, anyway."

"Fine, I'm going to change," he said and headed toward the bathroom. He didn't understand how knowing the shirt he was putting on was touching Sam's skin as she slept at night was supposed to ease his discomfort.

"What, you can't change your shirt in front of me, Benson? You're such a girl."

"That's why I'm wearing your shirt, Sam," he shot back and closed the door on her laughter.

Freddie found it amazing that they arrived at the concert even before the opening act had come on stage. He went to Sam's house early, in the hope that he would be able to push her enough to ensure they got there before Ani came onstage. But Sam was in one of her weird stages where nothing Freddie did seemed to bother her or force her to mock him.

Sam had been right. Most of the concertgoers were female. Freddie hated himself for stereotyping, but he also guessed that many of them were lesbians. Or at least bisexuals. He blushed as he saw two girls in the ticket line kissing. _Okay_. There were so many piercings and different hair colors that he really began to wonder what alternate dimension his school existed in where he saw nothing like this.

The opening act was a poet named Buddy Wakefield, who amazed Freddie. Sam wasn't as impressed, saying something about going to school if she wanted to hear poetry. Freddie squashed back a comment about how some music lyrics could be considered poetry. He didn't want to fight her. This wasn't a date, but he was letting one tiny corner in the attic of his mind pretend it was, and he didn't want to ruin it by fighting. Sam grabbed some money out of his wallet and left to get something to eat and drink, while he turned back to the poet. He found himself transported to a convenience store in North Dakota, with the smell of mopped tile and fried foods in his nostrils. Sam returned and thrust a soda into his hand. He looked at her and nodded his thanks, and smiled at her returned smirk.

After the poet was a band called Amar Das that Sam enjoyed more. They sounded okay, but Freddie was still twisted inside from the poet and from the smell of Sam on his chest and the closeness of her, as he tried not to look as she jumped up and down, and the music didn't seem to hit his ears, but instead pushed through him. And as he swayed unknowingly among the crowd, he looked into the sky and saw dark clouds above, and in his heart he knew he had made a mistake. What mistake it was he wasn't sure, but he had a sense of foreboding, a sense of dread and mystery and comfort, like when he first realized he was on the cusp of being an adult, a turnpike in which his mother would be left behind, all tick baths and first aid kits, and in which he would look back at her, noticing wrinkles he hadn't seen before. But what he felt now wasn't like that, not like when he realized that his mother would die at some point, that _he_ would die at some point, and even if that didn't happen for a long time, he was still going to have to face a world in which he couldn't sink into the comfort of his mother, in which he couldn't stay out of school for a week just because somebody had said he hadn't kissed a girl yet. No, this was worse, and he looked down by his side, at the dancing girl beside him, and he knew something seriously wrong was coming, even if he didn't know what it was.

"Oh, man," he whispered. It happened just as the band stopped playing, and Sam had heard him.

"I know. They're awesome, right?"

He nodded. He had heard not one lyric.

Freddie tried to shake the cobwebs out of his attic. It was just a hunch, a moment of fear. He was here with Sam-Sam has caused a large portion of his moments of fear in his life, so that should be nothing new.

Ani DiFranco came to the stage after twenty minutes and started off with "Untouchable Face". Freddie had finally pushed his feelings to the side and started to enjoy himself. Sam was jumping up and down next to him, partly out of excitement and partly to see over the mass of people. Her arm was constantly rubbing against his, and occasionally her shoulder would connect with his. He didn't say anything about it, only paused every once in a while to take a look at her before looking back at the stage.

Then the rain started.

For a few seconds there were only light sprinkles. And then it became steady. Not heavy enough for the concert to be stopped (the stage was covered, as were the first few rows of the audience), but enough so that anybody not protected was soon soaked. Sam's shirt soon became heavy with weight on Freddie. He glanced over at Sam, then looked away quickly once he realized that her wet shirt was clinging and revealing more than she would normally be willing to let him see without giving him a beating. He looked at the rest of the audience. _That _wasn't much better. Not only did many of the girls there have soaked T-shirts, but many of the T-shirts were white and becoming ever more transparent. And some girls were not wearing bras, he noted. He pulled his head back up and decided to concentrate solely on the stage. The stage was good. He felt the heat on his face and took a rapid glance at Sam, who fortunately had not appeared to notice any of this, still deeply entranced in the music despite the rain.

Freddie thought later maybe, just maybe, he might have been saved if it hadn't been for that first kiss. He had no reason to know it was coming or of the ones that would follow. He had Sam to blame for those.

He had finally been able to get his hormones settled to their normal level of teenage insanity and was able to enjoy the music again. His eyes were closed at the moment (he found that and squinting helped avoid the T-shirt situation) when he felt lips smash against his. He opened in his eyes in surprise. Red hair. Green eye makeup. He did not know this girl at all. After a few seconds the girl stopped kissing him.

"Wha...?" Freddie said. _You are not quick on your feet, boy,_ his mind said to him sadly. His eyes shifted to Sam. She did not look happy.

"Sorry," the girl said, giggling. Freddie looked at her again-no, not a girl, probably at least twenty. "My fiancee told me I had to kiss one straight boy before we got married, so, yay..." She pointed to another woman, who looked like she could be lining up beside Todd on the football team. Until she dazzled Freddie with a beautiful smile and a delicate wave of her hand.

Freddie heard laughter. He looked at Sam, who no longer looked upset; actually, she looked positively giddy. Freddie looked back to the kisser. "How did you know I wasn't gay?" he asked. Was he seriously upset because somebody thought he was heterosexual? He felt his own mind want to smack itself.

"I've never seen a gay guy try so hard not to look at breasts," she said, giggling even more. Freddie licked his lips and discovered a slightly sour taste. She had been drinking. Sam laughed as another blush came to Freddie's cheeks. The kisser leaned toward Freddie and whispered in his ear.

"Besides, I saw the way you looked at her. Gay guys don't look at women like that." She smiled, gave him another kiss-this time on his cheek-and left to be embraced in the arms of her fiancee.

"What did she say?" Sam asked.

"I think she's a little drunk," Freddie asked, dodging the question. Surprisingly, Sam let that go. Not so surprisingly, Sam had another idea, and for the next half hour Freddie would find lips suddenly press against his, as Sam hunted with unseemly precision to find lesbians willing to kiss a straight boy. He wasn't sure what she told them, but they seemed willing enough. Freddie's lips eventually became sore from the forced kisses, some hesitant, some sloppy and drunken, all accompanied by Sam's laughter.

"Sam, I don't think that last one was actually a lesbian," he said, rubbing his lips. "I think she stuck her tongue in my lungs."

"I don't know if she's a lesbian or not, but I'm pretty sure she's into girls," Sam said, and Freddie saw her rubbing her own lips. He laughed. "Be happy, Benson. At least we know now if you ever turn lesbian, you can score easily." Freddie laughed again. In a past Sam-and-Freddie he would have been hurt and offended by this.

They turned back to the stage and soon became re-engaged in the music. The rain was still playing a slow, steady beat on them. Neither of them noticed that they stood with their arms around each other when "Angry Anymore" began, another song that Freddie that had mentally added to his Sam playlist.

Then "Face Up and Sing" began. It was a decent song, but not one of Freddie's favorites. He turned to Sam, and he saw her with her arms in the air, her eyes closed, and she _was_ singing. Freddie watched as rain swam in delicate patterns down the length of her neck. And that was when it happened. There was no love at first sight. Love was a Rube Goldberg device, failing and failing until the final domino was set correctly. Everything clicked into place, all locks were set, the stars aligned, angels sang hallelujah, and Freddie accepted he didn't have a crush on Sam. He didn't love Sam. He was in love with Sam.

This was no good at all.

**A/N: This author's note might be a little long. Some of what I write below discusses my thinking during the writing process, so if that's not your thing, please feel free to skip and go to the bottom paragraph. Mea culpa.**

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It can be a problem when an author foreshadows or builds up something and the event happens...and you're disappointed. I hope that wasn't the case. **

**This was my favorite chapter to write, and also the scariest. I had some debate about the whole concert, especially after I decided Ani DiFranco was going to be the catalyst. Was she somebody Sam or Freddie would listen to? I actually decided quickly that I could see Freddie listening to her. Of everybody on **_**iCarly**_** he is probably the most sensitive and would actually probably be the one who had the most chick music (not intended as an insult-I'm a straight, married guy, and I listen to Ani, Missy Higgins, Heather South, and many others...in between my Dan Bern, Butch Walker, Fugazi, and Black Flag). I figure Sam has eclectic musical tastes and felt there was no issue with her liking Ani, punk music, and the pop music shown on the show. **

**Another big issue was the lesbian thing. I have tried to stay, if not at the same address of what happens on the show, at least in the same neighborhood. And alternative lifestyles is not something touched upon on the show (except maybe in a suggestive manner, such as with Nevel and the pet groomers). However, once I decided on Ani, there was little choice. She **_**does**_** have many lesbian and bisexual fans.**

**Ani DiFranco and Buddy Wakefield are real, and wonderful in their own ways. Amar Das does not, as far as I know, exist as a band. It is actually the name of the third Guru in Sikhism. I learned about him in a Comparative Religion class and admired him (as opposed to some of the other Gurus). Not pushing any religion (I'm not Sikh), but you might like to read about him, as he is an interesting man. **

**In some ways, this concert really happened. I went to an Ani DiFranco concert (Buddy Wakefield opened for her, and I can't remember the other act). It did rain, and there were shirt issues (I also tried to be like Freddie-actual success inconclusive). I did not kiss any lesbians (or anybody at the concert), but I am not a teenage star of a web show and did not have somebody with Sam's mind to make it happen. I would have gone more into how Sam actually got girls to kiss Freddie, but I wanted to keep it from Freddie's point-of-view, and I think we all know Sam can be persuasive.**

**If you haven't listened to or heard of Ani DiFranco or Buddy Wakefield (especially "Convenience Stores"), you can search for them on YouTube. There is a good chance anything you might find of theirs will have explicit language, so please be aware of that.**

**I want to thank everybody who has taken time to read and especially those who have shared a kind or constructive word. I only discovered **_**iCarly**_** by accident, as it's on the same channel as **_**Spongebob Squarepants**_**, which my three-year-old loves (I can't take it, especially at Christmas, when the Christmas special is shown, and that song gets stuck in my head). She dances along to the **_**iCarly**_** theme. I paid minimal attention to the show, but soon become hooked, mainly because of Freddie (for reasons, please review chapter 2 again). I have not written something in a long time, and, although this is not a completely original story (somebody else's character), I appreciate everybody for their words, so that maybe I actually write that Great American Novel (or at least a rather nice Peruvian short story). Only one more chapter left to go.**


	5. Chapter 5: Shredded

Chapter 5: Shredded

**Disclaimer: I own way too many Christmas songs, but I don't own **_**iCarly**_**. Also, for the purpose of this chapter, I had to incorporate dialogue that appears in the episode "iOMG", which was written by Dan Schneider. If you're reading this far into the story, chances are you know which dialogue is Dan's and which is mine.**

Freddie looked at the clock on the wall. It was going to be midnight soon. A new day. And, as he looked at the girl he loved, he knew that everything would change after this. Even if Sam didn't listen to him, didn't listen to her own desires and make a move on the boy she loved, things would different. Because Freddie was constructing a new box. And he would put all of his Sam in in it, and all his love would be tucked away like a photo album, gathering dust and fading yellow. He might take it every once in a while to look at it, but that would be something he wouldn't let anybody see.

He opened the door.

"Yo, yo."

_He walked her to her front door after the concert. And he thought about telling her, "I know this wasn't a date, but it felt like one to me, and you sang in the rain, and I discovered I am in love with you, and would it be okay if I kissed you?" His face was blank. They communicated in silence, but he couldn't let that smoke signal out. He thought she looked at his lips for a second, but then her eyes slipped to his shirt (her shirt), and something shifted._

"_Could you give that back to me when you get a chance?" Her voice was soft and thin, not a Sam voice. And Freddie calculated information in his mind and understood. He recalled when they talked about their fathers, she had said her dad was a fan of the early 90s grunge scene in Seattle. This was his shirt. And she often slept in it. And she had let Freddie wear it. All thoughts of kissing her left Freddie. He knew, even if, through some crack in the time-space continuum, she had wanted him to kiss her-which she didn't-that if he did, she would crack, and that was not a crack they could survive, not something that could be kept within the studio, and she would resent him for it._

"_No problem. I'll wash it and get it back to you tomorrow." She nodded. "Sam? I had a good time tonight."_

_She smiled. "You're just glad you got lucky tonight, even if it was with the rainbow crowd." He rolled his eyes, and she laughed. "I had fun, too." She paused, as if she wanted to say something else. "Night, Freddie."_

_The next day he put her shirt in her backpack with all the dexterity of a pickpocket, another imprint Sam had made upon him. Nobody noticed. And Sam never mentioned it._

When she saw him in the breezeway she rolled her eyes. "Carly send you to find me?"

"Nope." Why would she ask him that? It was as if she was already on guard, as if the last few years had not existed and soon she would get in his face and let him know Carly would never love him. He wished they were in the studio. There they could be Sam-and-Freddie; there she wouldn't be closed up like this, at least not with just the two of them.

"Oh, so you don't know we had a little argument?"

"She told me about your little argument. I just said she didn't tell me to come find you." _C'mon, Sam, don't you know I would always be there for you._ He felt his own shield coming up. Maybe they had regressed. Maybe the Sam he knew in the studio was some tiny part of her of which she didn't even like to think. He accepted that the time they spent together didn't mean as much to her as they did to him, but he was dismayed to think that maybe they didn't mean anything to her at all.

"Good," she said, defensively.

"But Carly's right," Freddie said. All the sidekicks he knew and admired did what was best for their friends, even at their own expense. Freddie would do the same. He didn't know if Carly was really right; he couldn't think of too many of Carly's "plans" that had worked well. But he knew what the application had said, and he knew that now that what was most important to him was Sam's happiness, even if it was a happiness he had to drag her to as she punched and kicked him.

Sam groaned.

"Groan all you want."

"I don't care what your stupid PearPad app says about me being in love. I'm not into Brad like that." Freddie rested against the wall, no sign on his face, although in his mind he tried to analyze what she had said, to catch any change in inflection. Was she not into _Brad_ like that? Was she into someone else? Or maybe she was into Brad a different way? Maybe a crush. He felt his own internal groan rising, and he pushed it down. He got off the wall and walked closer to her.

"Lately every time I tell you that Brad and I are doing something together, you want to come hang with us." _And you act so different, Sam. I don't like this Sam. I want my Sam back, the one who can insult me without a thought, the one not ashamed to cry in my arms, even if it's only when the two of us are alone. _

"And that means I'm in love with him?"

"Well, you hate me." _Why did I say that? No, wait, I have to continue. I need to get her with the boy she loves...or crushes on...or whatever it is that Sam does, and that boy is not me. That boy could never be me._

"I never said I hate you," she said quietly. Freddie understood why she said this even less than he understood why he brought it up in the first place. Of course she had said it. They had said it to each other after their first kiss. Hearing Sam say she hated him was a constant in his life, even as he understood she didn't mean it, but he grasped onto it, so that he could push her.

"Yeah, you have," he said, his voice getting higher in incredulity. "Like 900 times. I still have the birthday card you gave me that said, 'Happy Birthday. I hate you. _Hate_, Sam." He didn't tell her the card was in a real box in his bedroom, along with tickets from their concert, pictures of her, and dozens of other mementos of their relationship.

Sam sighed. "Just leeeeeave."

"Fine, I'll leeeeeave."

"Bye."

"But before I go-". Sam stood up and approached him. She stood mere feet from him, her body tense. It was a stance that would have a younger Freddie cowering in fear, if not making a run for it.

"That's it. Get out of here before I do a double-fist dance on your face." And there it was. He had a decision to make. Did he go? Or did he step up for his friend and try to get her to see what was best for her, even if she did end up hurting him? _She's going to hurt me no matter what_. He stepped closer to her.

"You can threaten your double-fist face-dancing all you want. But Carly's still right." He paused. She didn't know it, but this was a huge moment for him. She didn't see the box being pushed into a corner, the tape ready to seal it, the marker soon to label it. Everything inside him wanted to scream at her that she should pick him, she should be in love with him-that of any man on this or any other planet, he was the one who knew how to make her happy, if she would just give him the chance. But he couldn't say that. Because _he_ was not the one she loved.

"Look, I know it's scary to put your feelings out there, because you don't know if the person you like is going to like you back." _Well, that's very hypocritical_. But that wasn't the point. He wasn't the point. Sam was. Sam was the toughest person he knew. But in some ways she was also the most fragile. Even as he looked into her eyes, eyes that were staring at him with a stillness so unlike his Sam, he imagined all the horrible things he would do to Brad if he ended up hurting her. _Brad would never hurt her, you know. He's a good guy_. Yeah, a good guy. Just not the one Freddie wanted to be with Sam. "Everyone feels that way." _I feel that way, Sam_. But the box was sealed. Sam-and-Freddie had been dismantled, and there was Sam, and her sidekick pal, Freddie, who often found himself in silly situations, but who would always be there for the story's heroine when she needed him, only to fade into the background after, letting her take the glory and applause she deserved.

The problem was that this was Sam. She zigged when she should have zagged. She didn't do what was was expected. That was part of the reason he was in love with her. As he spoke to her, unbeknownst to him, dust stirred in the attic, boxes shifted, and creases like spiderwebs appeared in the box labeled "Sam". He liked order. But Sam didn't do order. She couldn't be contained in a box.

"But you never know what might happen if you don't..." And that was all he got out, because suddenly Sam's lips were pressed against his. And cardboard burst apart, and in the neatness of his attic, surrounded by all the other oh-so-neat boxes, was shredded box and ham and bacon and remote control and hands up in the rain and Sam Sam Sam.

He didn't know what to do. His arms hung by his sides as if chained by heavy weights. His eyes bulged open in shock. The part of his mind that still worked shouted at him to kiss her back, but his body was frozen.

He felt butterflies. Hundreds of butterflies. Thousands of them. A cacophony of butterflies, full of furious activity.

Then she pulled back, and he saw her fear, the silk hidden behind the steel. As he tried to reconcile his thoughts, her face hardened.

"Sorry," she said. Freddie felt he was going to throw up from the buzzing feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"It's cool," was all he could think to say. Once again, Sam had surprised him. Maybe, just maybe, he would be okay if not everything was boxed. Maybe there had to be room in the attic for those things he loved and wanted to look at too often to hide them in a box. Maybe they were things faded by the sun and worn away by time, and possibly other people didn't understand why they meant so much to him, why they stood out so prominently in the attic, why there was never any dust around them, because he never left them alone long enough for it to gather. But that was okay, because he loved her, and that was all that mattered.

And maybe, just maybe, she loved him back.

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this. I know the last chapter probably contained no surprises for you, but for me the journey is often more important than the destination (which is why I find myself constantly re-reading books, even when I know what is going to happen). I want to thank everybody who has reviewed. I've tried to personally answer, if not every review, then at least each person who has left a review.**

**I have an idea for another story, which could be seen as a sequel to this (or at least somewhat of a sequel to "iOMG"). I won't make any promises about that, in case I am not able to get to it right away (the first 500 words of this story were written about a week-and-a-half ago, then nothing for about three days, with the rest of the story coming in two time blocks over two days). Thank you, all. **


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